


Public Displays of Affection

by JessenoSabaku



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Aged-Up Character(s), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Flirting, Blow Jobs, Card Games, Comedy, Dream Sex, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Flirting, Friendship, Frottage, Lance is bad at flirting basically, Lots of things happen, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Polyamory, Polydins, Porn with Feelings, Public Sex, Romantic Friendship, Shower Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:19:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessenoSabaku/pseuds/JessenoSabaku
Summary: Lance and Hunk have been hooking up since the Garrison days. They usually manage to keep their business private, but when Lance gets in the mood, there's no stopping him. Thanks to that, Pidge caught them getting it on in the showers, and ever since then she's gotten more and more distant. Now Lance has to find a way to close the rift between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This one's a doozy. I meant to write a PWP, but then the script tripped over itself and fell out about twenty pages longer than it was originally meant to be. Before you hop in, just a couple warnings I want to reiterate, since my tags are all over the place.
> 
> I know that some people--some of whom probably subscribe to my fics--are sensitive about the canon ages of the Voltron characters, to the point that even aged-up versions are unacceptable. Which makes sense, because you shouldn't be allowed to, say, age-up a thirteen year old kid and have free reign to sexualize them while still fetishizing their innocent and child-like qualities. For me, the canon characters and my development of them in my head are more separate than that. I use their base personalities as a foundation and then build on them as if they were older, with characteristics/traits that older people have. So in my head, they're always the same age as me, and they think at my level. So when I say they're "aged-up," I mean they're aged up in body and soul. The paladins here are envisioned as if they were in their early twenties. If that squicks you, I apologize profusely, and please don't read. There are some gen scenes that I had a lot of fun with but they're not worth the ideological headache if you have a strong moral opinion about the age debate.
> 
> Please let me know what you think about how I write the characters. I haven't made a lot of Voltron friends yet, so hearing other perspectives would be cool. Any criticism and feedback is greatly appreciated.

For all the modern conveniences the Castle-ship has, it did not have segregated showers. In fact, they were almost _painfully_ communal. The showers were basically one giant, bowed-out room with ten to twenty stalls barely separated by gray dividing walls. None of the stalls had a door either, so anyone who walked far enough down the line of showers was privy to the bare asses of all their crewmates. The only modicum of privacy that existed was a changing room tacked onto the far right side of the room, through which the showers were accessed. There, towels and spare clothes were routinely collected and replaced by the Castle’s friendly A.I. system—a neat little feature, courtesy of Coran after one too many instances of someone forgetting a change of clothes and having to wander the labyrinthine ship naked.

The former paladins must have gotten used to the lack of privacy, Lance assumed. Luckily the members of the current Voltron force seemed to shower at completely different times. And usually if two people were caught in the showers at the same time, all eyes remained on their own respective stalls. Except of course for Lance, who hadn’t quite received the memo on the basics of personal showering space. He’d intruded on the other paladins multiple times, especially Keith and Hunk. Usually making a suggestive comment completely at their expense and passing it off as a joke, while slyly watching the water trace the curvature of their muscles.

This time, it was Hunk’s stall Lance had intruded into. He couldn’t remember what he said this time. Something about how, with thighs like his, he could crush a man’s head. Which made a lot of assumptions about where the hypothetical—purely theoretical—man’s head would be.

Hunk’s defeated sigh caught him off-guard. “All this time and you still can’t just straight up ask for what you want,” he huffed.

“What are you talking about?” Lance gaped with too-obvious feigned innocence. Splaying both hands in a lazy shrug, he asserted confidently, “It seems _you’re_ the one who wants something.”

Hunk just rolled his eyes and beckoned with thick fingers, like calling a cat. The gesture drew Lance’s body forward like a magnet until they were chest-to-chest. He threaded long fingers into wet, ebony hair, never tugging but applying a gentle pressure to the base of Hunk’s skull to urge him forward. The pressure didn’t ease until Hunk leaned forward and molded their mouths together. Broad arms around Lance’s back came as a surprise, always firmer than they looked.

Lance sagged experimentally in Hunk’s tight grip, practically floating on his toes. A delighted shudder rolled through him.

Hunk pulled back and frowned. “You’re not gonna make me hold you up the whole time, are you?”

Lance pursed his lips, giving the issue his fullest pretend consideration. He tilted his head, purposefully brushing their noses together.

“Maybe. You can handle that, right, big guy?” he crooned lowly, eyelashes drooping to shade his blue eyes. Such a gesture could melt most men into putty.

“Nope,” Hunk answered immediately. He lifted Lance a little and leveraged him against the shower wall. “I’m enlisting help.”

Lance groaned, eyes rolling up, “What? Come on, dude, back in the academy I saw you lift cargo boxes twice my weight with one hand.”

“That’s an exaggeration,” Hunk argued, shifting to pin Lance with his lower body. In response, Lance’s legs instinctively wrapped around his midsection, heels digging into soft lower back muscles. A hand wandered aimlessly over his ribcage as Hunk insisted, “Besides, I never had a liaison with a cargo box. Do you have any idea how hard it is to hold up another person when your knees are going noodle-y?”

The hand ventured upwards, fingers skirting sensitive pectoral muscles. Lance lifted his arms over his head to give better access, head swimming with how weightless he felt. Cocksure, he hummed, “You saying I make your knees weak?”

“That remains to be seen,” Hunk said with a sly smile, thumb venturing just beneath one pert brown nipple, “but I’m not taking any more chances.”

The hand doubled back down to Lance’s abdomen, joined by a friend, and Lance’s brows furrowed as they began a slow journey up rippling skin, brushing over his chest and higher still. Hunk’s mouth followed, nipping warm and wet trails that Lance’s torso rose to meet.

Hunk had kissed all the way up to where wiry neck met ear and jaw before Lance grasped the breadth of his implication.

“Holy shit!” Lance shrieked, yanking Hunk’s head back by his hair with a look somewhere between offense and total excitement. A half-smile quivered on his face as he demanded, “Who was it? Who’d you drop?”

“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Hunk grunted, relishing the slender hand that slipped playfully down the back of his neck. Nimble fingers traced the bumps in his spine.

“Somebody back at the academy?” Lance asked, ignoring Hunk’s objection. He tilted his neck back as Hunk leaned forward to return to sucking the sensitive skin, leaving the faintest suggestion of teeth behind.

“You’re the only one I had _that_ kind of relationship with,” Hunk answers, sending a flutter of smug butterflies through Lance’s stomach. He knew that wasn’t the full answer, though.

“If it wasn’t someone back at the academy … then it had to be somebody on our team, right?” Lance frowned down at his friend, who responded with a harsh bite to the collarbone. Gasping appreciatively, Lance’s fingers stroked back up from Hunk’s spine to his hair. “ _Ahh_! Nn, couldn’t have been Shiro or Pidge. And you were never interested in Allura.”

Thumbs pressed into the crooks of his bony hips, drawing out a soft groan and upsetting his concentration. They pressed firmly, as if in warning, grip already strong and eager enough to leave red marks. The promise of what was to come almost made Lance forget his line of inquiry. Then the realization hit him.

He beat a fist against Hunk’s shoulder and declared triumphantly, “It was Keith, wasn’t it?” Wisely, Hunk said nothing, rolling one brown eye to look up from Lance’s chest. Another warning bite had Lance arching with the feeling, almost delicious as the victory from discovering this new information. He asserted again, with little to no supporting evidence but complete certainty, “You fucked him and dropped him on his ass!”

Hunk’s laugh reverberated through Lance’s skin, “I didn’t fuck him.” Which Lance believed, but there were a whole lot of other inappropriate things he and Keith could’ve done that Hunk wasn’t outwardly denying.

“So it _was_ him!” Lance shouted, earning another short peal of laughter, this time a little more embarrassed. Refusing to damn himself further, Hunk ducked in for a kiss, tongue pushing past whatever ramblings were sure to come next. Lance wholeheartedly responded, nails digging into Hunk’s back, sucking slowly on new, heated thoughts.

_The_ Keith—straight-laced, socially stunted, can’t-make-or-take-a-joke-to-save-his-life Keith—had been where Lance was right now, held down by Hunk’s body and strong arms. Feeling straight teeth scrape over his collarbone and down his chest. _That Keith_ , whose name and mullet just by association with him became symbols of the quintessential self-unaware prude. Lance would never have thought he was gay, or that he even had the presence of mind to think of doing any sweaty activity other than, you know, _training_.

They separated with a pop and a string of giggles rose out of Lance’s throat. Keith must have been so befuddled, picking himself off the floor, still partly aroused. Maybe he didn’t mind being on his knees. The fantasy, coupled with a harsh suck on his left nipple, made Lance’s half-hard dick swell further.

“Did he suck you off? Give you a handy? Come on, man, I need details,” Lance insisted. His incessant questions went unanswered, but he found it hard to mind when Hunk’s right hand trailed down to his groin.

As fingers curled around his cock and began to stroke, he bit his lip and imagined Keith on his knees, mouth open wide as Hunk slid in all the way to the back of his throat. Or maybe it was Hunk between Keith’s legs, licking a stripe up his throbbing dick, listening to him pant and beg for more in a jilted tone. And then maybe he turned over onto his stomach, spread his legs and lifted his ass while Hunk pulled his cheeks apart and—oh shit, shit, suddenly Keith was nine times hotter than Earth’s sun and it bothered Lance how quickly that guy had gone from awkward-sexy to holy fucking shit. He defiantly chalked it up to the power of his magnificent imagination.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Lance hissed as a particularly firm stroke dragged him out of the vision. He looked up to see Hunk’s knowing gaze, heat in his dark eyes. “What?”

“You look pretty much how I felt at the time,” Hunk teased, not caring if he just fully outed himself.

Lance’s scowl deepened briefly before blooming into another wide, self-confident grin. He brushed a thumb over Hunk’s bottom lip and said, “But in the end, you couldn’t help running back to me, huh?”

“Of course. There’s no comparison,” Hunk replied with no hesitation. A soft hum let him know he answered correctly. And it hadn’t been a lie—of the grand total of two paladins Hunk had “liaisons” with, Lance definitely took the cake. Among other things.

Hunk found the reward for loyalty was pretty sweet too when Lance asked, “So how do you want me today? We can use my conditioner,” he added with a waggle of his eyebrow. Nothing was off-limits, then.

“That’s a tough choice,” Hunk pondered. He shifted Lance in his arms, cock pressing against Lance’s own to let him know how hard he was. “You’re pretty damn hot on your knees. And on your side. And while riding me.”

“Pick something that’s easy to do _here_ , Hunk,” Lance chided, but still obviously preening himself. “I’d offer to just blow you, but you’ve obviously got bigger plans.” He accentuated the end of his sentence with a roll of his hips.

Hunk simply smiled, let Lance down, and instructed him to turn around. Lance complied with great showmanship, pressing palms and chest to the wall and wiggling his ass flirtatiously. A calloused hand came to rest near the base of his spine, pushing the arc in his back forward with an authority that made Lance’s toes tingle and his eyes slide closed. Just as he felt fingers climbing his inner thigh, he heard a loud spatter against one of the stall walls. Hunk made a strangled noise and his touch disappeared.

When Lance turned to ask what was going on, he received a full-blast spray of water in the face. He shook his head with a pained whine, and put on his best glare for the culprit.

To his surprise, it was Pidge standing there, holding a shower nozzle, one long tube running out of it and behind the dividing wall. She stood there completely naked, peeking out from the adjacent stall, only half hidden by the gray wall. And from the looks of it, she was completely unfazed by everything.

“Remote activation,” she explained dully. “Cool, right?”

“I didn’t know you could pull them off the wall like that,” Lance mused, earning another blast of water. When he dried his eyes again, he could swear there were black spots dancing on his vision.

“W-we didn’t hear you come in,” Hunk mumbled, leaning against the dividing wall with his body angled away to hide his raging erection.

“No shit,” she deadpanned. Her hair was as dry as her tone, so she must have just come in, snuck past them, and then remotely activated the shower head.

“How did you do that?” Lance demanded, stumbling forward to see. He backed off when she raised the shower head threateningly.

“You could figure it out yourself if you actually took the time to look, instead of getting it on in the showers. Geez, you two, we all use this space. What if Shiro had come in? Or Coran?”

Shrugging, Lance answered, “I’m pretty sure Coran never showers. Have you smelled that guy recently? Either he hasn’t showered in three weeks or he needs to lay off the Altean cologne.”

He shrieked as another spray of water flew right into his eyes. “What the hell was that for?!”

“Because I wanted to,” Pidge replied calmly, a smug smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Now could you do me a favor and take your …” her eyes flicked down to Lance’s dick, still standing hard and red and completely out in the open, “ _business_ somewhere else? I’d like to shower in peace.”

Lance leaned an elbow against the wall Pidge stood behind and leered, “What, we getting you all hot and bothered?”

A blast of cold water pulsed over his arousal and completely knocked the wind out of him. Pidge mercilessly, ruthlessly, maintained the flow, pushing him back into Hunk who began shouting, “Cold! So cold!!”

“Okay, okay!! It was just a joke!” Lance cried, protecting his junk with his hands as he made a mad dash for the changing room with Hunk in tow, Pidge spraying them the whole time. By the time Lance made it to the door, his legs were shivering with both cold and frustration. He looked back at her just long enough to get a glimpse of her square, boyish shoulders and her narrow back. She hadn’t spared them even one curious glance.

Both boys dove into the changing room. Lance furiously toweled himself off and threw his shorts and jacket on, not bothering with his undershirt. He wheeled on poor Hunk, who’d just picked up his underwear, and yelled, “Get your shit on right now! We’re going back to my room and having an angry fuck!”

Bewildered, Hunk countered, “I’m more embarrassed than angry.”

Lance grabbed him by the shoulders, lip curled in a snarl.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s still gonna be the angriest fuck of your life.”

Lance “helped” Hunk tug on his pants and his shirt inside-out, and then dragged him down the hall.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Because of some urgent need Coran had for Hunk’s assistance with repairs the so-called “angriest fuck” never happened. If Coran had an iota of self-awareness he would’ve been able to tell that these boys, clutching their crumpled clothes against their bare stomachs like stolen goods, he would’ve realized that repairs could wait for a few hours. Unfortunately, he owned not even an iota of that blessed conscientiousness. Not even a wheat grain’s worth. Also unfortunately, repairs took all night, or at least until Lance had returned to his room and slipped off into a deep sleep.

Needless to say, he did everything in his power to make the mood foul the minute he plopped down at the breakfast table. He sat next to Hunk, who immediately sensed it and tensed in anticipation. Keith, on Hunk’s right, was completely unaware, already scarfing down whatever unintelligible goop Hunk had managed to make half-edible. Nobody else was there yet except Pidge, who was seated on the other side of the table.

After a few minutes of Lance squirming in his seat and whispering passive-aggressive phrases under his breath, Pidge finally put down her bowl and took the bait.

“What’s got you whispering Hail Mary’s this early in the morning?”

“Oh,” Lance scoffed, eyes rolling, “Oh, nothing. Got in bed early. Had a great night’s sleep. Over eight hours! I should be thankful, really!”

Hazel eyes narrowed, obviously not happy with where this was going. Already barely beginning to catch on to his frustration. She would’ve left the conversation at that, but Keith, who seemed to be getting in touch with his social side today, asked through a mouthful of slime, “Then what’s the problem?”

Gesturing wildly with both arms at the red paladin, Lance said loudly, “Boy, I’m _glad_ you asked, Keith! Thank you!”

Left eyebrow gradually floating into the stratosphere, Keith mumbled in confusion, “You’re welcome?” Before he could get the phrase out completely, Lance continued speaking with great feigned enthusiasm.

“You see, Hunk and I were having this really involved, really sweet _card game_ ,” Lance ground out, “Not bothering anyone, just minding our own business, until _someone_ came by and ruined it.”

Hunk put his hand over his face and mouthed, “Oh God.”

“And now, I’m not naming any names,” Lance promised, putting both his hands up in a peaceful white flag gesture, “but _she_ practically kicked the cards right out of my hand. We had to stop the whole game, and _she_ kicked us out of the room, and before we could make it back to my room, Coran stole Hunk away to help with repairs!”

Despite all gracious attempts to keep the offender’s identity secret, Lance bore his stare into Pidge, who looked similarly frustrated and unimpressed. Keith’s dark eyes flicked between the two of them, then back to Hunk, and he said slowly, “… Does he mean Allura …?”

“It’s me, Keith,” Pidge sighed, “he means me.”

Lance threw his hands in the air and shouted, “We didn’t _finish_ , Pidge! Do you know what that feels like?! You can’t do that to a man! Hunk felt the same way!”

“Don’t lump me into this! I was fine!” Hunk protested, and at the ensuing icy glare amended, “I mean, it _sucked_ , majorly, but there’s time for plenty of other _card games_.”

“Easy for you to say! You probably just went and played cards with Keith without even _telling_ me! Again!”

Eyes widening, Keith interjected, “Wait, what? I thought … is there something wrong with that? I thought everyone played cards together whenever they wanted?”

“No, _Keith_ , God,” Lance argued, slamming his hands on the table, “Not just anyone plays _card games_ together! You can’t just play cards with other people’s friends without telling them! It’s like, social interaction one-oh-one!”

Keith looked between Hunk and Pidge with a stare that asked “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

Hunk turned helplessly to Lance. “Does it really bother you that much? That he and I played cards together?” The euphemism was still laughable at best, but Hunk asked so seriously that it took the fire out of Lance.

“No,” he started, leaning back and crossing his arms with a pout. “I just would’ve liked to know. Maybe be invited, you know? To _play cards_ with the both of you.”

“I kind of thought you hated me, so I never asked,” Keith said, brows furrowing with entirely misplaced sympathy. “If you wanted to play, then just say so. Next time I’ll come find you first.”

Cheeks coloring with a guilty flush, Lance picked at a spot on his jeans and muttered a thank you.

Pidge took this opportunity to get to her feet with a disgruntled sigh, drawing Lance’s startled and now-somewhat timid gaze.

“Next time I won’t interrupt you. I didn’t know how badly it would _inconvenience_ you, just thought, you know, you could not have your _game_ in my personal space.”

Looking away and twirling a jacket string in his fingers, Lance murmured sulkily, “Well, _maybe_ you could’ve just … you know … joined in, or something.”

The flirtatious, troubled glance that followed it wasn’t lost on Pidge. But as much as she obviously acknowledged it, her steely expression rejected him firmly.

“You try to do _one thing_ for this team …” She shook her head and pointed at the three of them. “If it goes tits-up next time, don’t say I never did anything for the integrity of Voltron. I tried.”

Then she whisked away her empty bowl and disappeared into the kitchen. Lance sunk back into his seat and huffed, “She thought I was kidding.”

“Of course she did,” Hunk seconded, working on his forgotten breakfast.

Conversation died down after that, leaving only Keith with no understanding of what had just happened.

 

Walking down the corridor in the dead of night with Keith—or at least, what Pidge _thought_ was the dead of night, as far as she could tell in the blackness of space—Pidge yawned and asked, “What do you need me for again?”

Keith kept up his determined stride, a few quick paces ahead of her at all times. She struggled to keep up.

“Coran says I can activate multiple training programs at once, but there’s no verbal command for it,” Keith repeated mechanically. “I need you to go to the observation deck and do it for me.”

Pidge contemplated the back of Keith’s bomber jacket, wondering if he knew that he and his entire aesthetic were a relic of a century long dead. “Coran’s the one who told you about it, can’t you ask him?”

“I did, at first,” Keith admitted, back and arms stiffening. “But he refused.”

“So it’s dangerous,” Pidge surmised astutely.

“No, it’s not.” He paused. “Probably.”

A sigh welled up in Pidge’s chest that she could only hold down by the force of sheer will. Why couldn’t Keith get into trouble on his own? If this training exercise went haywire, Pidge would have to do damage control. She really didn’t want to be cleaning Keith’s dumb brains off the floor tonight. Luckily all the training programs had safety precautions built in for trainees, but still. If Coran was unwilling to help Keith execute the programs simultaneously …

She really wanted to excuse herself, but Keith chose the moment of her indecision to spin on his heel and stammer out, “S-sorry for the inconvenience. I appreciate your help. I think this will help me improve my skills, and it’s—nice to—have someone there.”

He quickly turned his face again, shoulders more rigid than ever, and quickened his pace. Pidge, more than a little shell-shocked, nonetheless managed not to falter (though she lagged behind even more now that he sped up). This time she did sigh, murmuring, “No problem” at his back. His ears were crimson-red.

Well, she thought, nothing can be done about it now. Whether it was intentional or not he’d pulled out an emotional trump card she couldn’t argue against. So she pulled out a little electronic device, the same shape and size as an old PDA, and fired up the display.

Soon enough they drew up to the door to the observation deck. She lurched forward and snagged the elbow of his jacket to get him to stop and listen.

“When I get up there, I’m going to run some algorithms to try and predict what’ll happen when I activate these programs.” She stopped, squinting one hazel eye at him. “How many did you want at the same time?”

“Three,” he answered grudgingly. “The one-on-one program for Level 2, Level 3, and Level 4.”

Pidge pinched the bridge of her nose, pushing her glasses up onto her forehead. She couldn’t believe she was doing this.

“Right. Okay. So, I’m going to run some possibilities to make sure doing this won’t completely short-circuit the training system, or put you in danger.”

She held a finger right in front of his nose. “Now listen real carefully. If I go run those algorithms, and this isn’t safe, you’re not doing it. Okay? And no asking anyone else to help you either. If I say it isn’t safe, _you’re not gonna do it_. You understand me?”

Though Keith openly grimaced at the thought, he gave her an obedient nod.

“Good,” Pidge huffed, fists planted on her hips. “Try to remain rational while I’m on the deck. I’ll give you a wave when we’re ready to start.”

She opened the door and climbed up to the observation deck, leaving Keith to head for the training room further down the hall. As she walked she began keying commands into her pad, bringing up the list of executable programs for the training room. She had a nosey into every corner of the Castle’s programming on her pad alone—what she was capable of controlling on her computer was beyond what any of her crewmates cared to conceive. She had no trouble separating the training programs for Levels 2, 3, and 4 and running some general calculations on the probability that, say, Keith would get his head chopped off by a training gladiator. She shook her head as her fingers automatically keyed in a continuous string of numbers and commands.

It wasn’t until her nose nearly touched the glass of the observation deck that she looked up and surveyed her surroundings. What she saw below, on the training deck itself, surprised her. Lance and Hunk were there, and had been training hard from the looks of it—both bruised and sweaty and exhausted. At some point Hunk had taken his shirt off, and Lance apparently needed help out of his hoodie, because Hunk practically ripped it off him. And for some reason, Hunk’s pants were falling down—

“Uh-oh,” Pidge groaned as she saw them meet for a kiss, Lance pulling Hunk’s belt and zipper wide open.

Looking back on the event, she really did feel bad for Keith. But she felt much worse watching the disaster first approach. For all her technological prowess and integration with the Castle, she had no direct communication line to Keith. She stood powerless to warn him.

All she could do was watch him go charging into the training room.

 

That day, the planets had truly aligned. For some reason Lance, who normally couldn’t be bothered to do more than traipse around and joke or complain, had thrown himself fully into Castle and team maintenance. This wasn’t the first time a surge of positive energy had possessed him, but the last time it happened was way back in the academy during the first few months of class he and Hunk had together. As Hunk remembered, Lance had aced a hands-on flight exam (more or less), earned a commendation for helping clean all the classrooms in an hour, and admitted to Hunk that he was maybe, kinda, probably bi all in the same day. As quickly as the burst of productivity came, it went. But today by the grace of some cruel space god, it made its reappearance.

Hunk had no problem with Lance being productive. In fact, it was good for the team. Lance didn’t cross swords with anyone all day, and in fact, everyone had seemed rather impressed. Or, well, Shiro, Coran, and Allura had been impressed. Keith was as cordial as he could be considering the rightful distrust he had towards the idea of Lance being serious. And Pidge, well—she was Pidge. She did techie things. Fiddled with satellites or whatever. Stuff that Hunk was _really_ interested in but couldn’t participate in because Lance was in the process of _dragging him across the whole damn ship_.

First Lance had volunteered himself and Hunk to help Coran do routine repairs. With how ecstatic Coran had been, waving his arms and making some comment about how “this felt just like the old days with his regiment back on Altea,” Hunk found it hard to be angry. Even when the food dispenser blew up on him. But when Lance incited Shiro to lecture them about battle tactics, and took care of everyone’s laundry, and offered to make dinner, Hunk grew tired with Lance volunteering on his behalf. Not that he didn’t like doing nice things for his crew, but … _all_ the nice things? In one day?

Yet every time Hunk worked himself into a lather, Lance would turn on that bright smile, glowing with some nugget of praise or thanks they’d earned. Seeing that expression, Hunk couldn’t help but let himself get pushed around a little more. He’d never admit it, but part of him enjoyed how, for a whole day, Lance considered the two of them an inseparable unit, distinguished from everyone else.

At least, he enjoyed it until, at what felt like approximately two in the morning, after cleaning the whole bottom level of the Castle, Lance announced that they were due for a round of training.

“Look man, I know you’re feeling yourself today, and that’s great and all,” Hunk started, crossing his arms, “but it’s the middle of the night and I have no energy for that. If the A.I. shoots me once, I’m down for the count.”

“You’re not gonna get shot, Hunk! I’ll have your back. Isn’t that why we’re supposed to train? To work on teamwork, and all that?”

“One night of sleepy training isn’t going to make a huge difference,” Hunk counters. “Besides, we’re already a pretty great team.”

“Yeah, _so_ ,” Lance drags out the ‘o’, “one round will be a piece of cake! And it’ll still help.”

There’s no arguing with him. With every argument Hunk makes, Lance’s stance becomes looser and more confident. As long as Hunk continues talking, he gives Lance an unlimited amount of ammunition.

Eventually Hunk realized this. Still unwilling to fully give in, he sighed, “Well, I guess it depends on the level we pick …”

Lance sidled up and threw an arm around his shoulder. “We’ll pick something easy. Totally smooth—in and out,” he promised with a slick smile. The trap was sealed.

“Alright, alright,” Hunk conceded with a frustrated groan. “Let’s go.”

 

“Totally smooth” turned out to be a Level 4 armed force tactical engagement with a dozen trained operatives who had nothing better to do than make meat paste of both Lance and Hunk. The latter ended up on the ground on his back, bruised and heaving long after the simulation was cut off.

Lance was in no better shape, clutching his side as he knelt over Hunk. Even so he did not have the humility to refrain from cackling, “You went down like a rock! Aren’t you supposed to be our tank?”

“I don’t exist to soak up your damage!” Hunk cried only to receive more laughter. He kicked up his arms and legs and then let them fall back down with a smack. “That’s it! I’m never training with you again! I should’ve stopped you when you said ‘Level 4.’”

Gingerly squatting down on his heels, Lance said, “But it made us a better team, huh?”

A dim gleam cut through his cheery blue stare. Something seemed off. Hunk pushed himself into a sitting position and leaned back on his arms. “You’ve been really gung-ho today, dude,” he noted with such exhaustion that Lance couldn’t help but frown.

“So? Just been on my game. What about it?”

“You get this way sometimes and I don’t understand,” Hunk admitted, not enjoying the fact that there were things they still didn’t know about each other after being friends for so long. “I don’t mind doing stuff with you. Hanging with you is always fun. But I feel like there’s something you want and I don’t know what that is. Like … somehow you’re not okay.”

Mouth set in a thin line, Lance said nothing.

“You did something like this back at the Garrison,” Hunk continued blithely, “the day you told me you liked guys as much as girls. You weren’t okay back then, either.”

Scoffing, Lance leaned forward and awkwardly curled his arms around Hunk’s neck, resting his head on one broad shoulder. “That’s because you didn’t reciprocate.”

A rueful grin grew on Hunk’s face. “I had no idea you were interested in me. I wasn’t just going to assume.”

“You still could’ve said something more than, ‘uh, okay’. Given me something to go on.”

A hand appeared around Lance’s waist, pulling him closer, rubbing his hip lovingly. They locked eyes and Lance remembered with startling clarity that he wasn’t the only one suffering from something unrequited back then. The realization made him avert his eyes back to Hunk’s chest, rising and falling with each breath.

“Are you still upset about this morning?” Hunk murmured, lips brushing against Lance’s temple. “Not getting to finish? Or maybe the Keith thing really did bother you?”

“No, I’m not worried about Keith,” he sighed, then paused and bit his lip. He pulled back, readjusted himself until he was straddling Hunk’s lap, and then stretched his arms around Hunk’s neck again, fingers threading together. “Though I am still _very_ upset we didn’t get to finish what we started.”

Hunk’s eyebrows drew together skeptically. He saw where Lance was going with this, warning him, “Be serious.”

The lanky boy on top of him pressed their foreheads together, peering deep into Hunk’s soul. In an impossibly low voice that was somehow still brighter and more fluid than the Milky Way, he asked, “Do you remember the first time I sucked you off?”

He delighted in the shudder that rolled through Hunk’s body, those pupils dilating in an already murky-brown sea. Most of his friends back on Earth were into eyes made of chesnut, gray skies, jade meadows or bright blue diamonds, but Lance saw warm, swamp-like tar pits in Hunk’s eyes and he wanted to be dragged under. Always had.

Pressing forward until their lips brushed with each syllable he spoke, Lance whispered quietly, “You were so sick, coming off of bronchitis, but I asked you _really_ nicely. It was your cock down my throat but you’re the one who choked. Remember? You were shy at first, but it wasn’t long until you were ramming it in—”

He flicked his tongue out playfully, running it over Hunk’s top teeth, then paused and let their hot breaths mingle for a few more moments. Hunk’s control was commendable, but the way his grip flexed on Lance’s hip told volumes.

That first time Lance sucked Hunk off was a week after Lance’s weird energy burst. Half a week after the breakdown that followed. Only a few days since they officially agreed to get together. Well, “official” might have been a strong word. In fact, it probably wasn’t “official” until Lance had Hunk’s cock in his mouth.

Lance was trying to make a statement, though, and it wasn’t lost on Hunk. After a certain point, verbal communication failed the both of them. The only thing left, then, was comfort. A kind that left their bones aching with heat before they even started.

“Is that what you want?” Hunk asked, mouthing subtly at Lance’s lips.

Lance’s teeth caught his bottom lip and pulled hard. “As much as I know you want to see me swallow you whole.”

Slim fingers crawled up the hem of Hunk’s shirt, skating over the skin of his stomach. A mirthful giggle bubbled up from Lance’s chest as Hunk’s reason and desire actively waged a bloody war on his face. They had to actually talk eventually. Maybe it would be best to steer into the skid. But if Lance cared only about doing what he thought was best, he never would have had the courage to strike up a relationship with Hunk in the first place.

And anyway, Hunk wasn’t complaining. The shirt slid up along with Lance’s hands, nails flexing into the hollows between Hunk’s ribs. While Lance was busy testing the pliant skin Hunk stole a kiss, swallowing a surprised laugh and grazing tongue with teeth. Thick fingers came up to thread through Lance’s short hair with just enough dig to set his scalp tingling. A brief skirmish of tongues was all Lance had the patience for—soon enough he pulled back with a smack and, raising Hunk’s hem even higher, peppered soft kisses over his chest like dewdrops. The unusual gentleness after all that talk about sucking dicks made Hunk look down in confusion.

One long, thin eyebrow arched up shamelessly in response. Brushing both palms over each side of Hunk’s pecs, with his nose pressed between them, Lance asked, “Man, if I said you had great tits, would you be offended?” The question, though playful, seemed to be rooted in a genuine sentiment.

Hunk chose to draw him back into a kiss instead of answering. This time Lance relaxed into it, molding his body against Hunk’s in a lean arch. The hand in his hair cupped one side of his face, and another hand held him in place by the jaw while Hunk fervently stole his breath away. The laughing gasps of breath against his mouth, the feel of thumbs stroking his cheeks, the palms cradling his head all made Lance feel like he’d made an incredible achievement instead of a really dumb joke.

The honey-sweet accomplishment in his chest gradually melted into something syrupy that trickled down his abdomen, making its way lower in hot streaks. He rolled his hips and groaned softly. Apparently his joke hadn’t been dumb enough to kill Hunk’s now very obvious arousal. He ground down in slow, small circles, eyes opening so he could watch Hunk’s tortured expression. The dirty talk from earlier had just been a palate-cleanser, but he guessed the memory of that first blowjob must have been more striking than he expected. More sticky-hot satisfaction seeped into his gut.

He broke away long enough to help Hunk pull off his shirt before diving back in, hips rolling more insistently this time. Hunk bucked up to meet him with an approving growl.

“You want to do it down here?” Hunk asked.

Lance recognized it as a rhetorical question. A flush crept over his cheeks as he murmured, “Not the right leverage.”

A wide smile stretched across Hunk’s face. The white flash of his canines sent a bolt of lightning through Lance’s abdomen.

“Stand up,” Hunk instructed.

Lance was all too happy to comply, practically dragging Hunk up with him. His hands flew to Hunk’s belt, eagerly fumbling open the clasp while Hunk snagged his hoodie and swiftly pulled it over his head. It was cast aside in a crumpled heap. While they met for another frantic kiss Lance reached again for Hunk’s belt, confidently unzipping his jeans so he could reach in and press a palm to the bulge underneath. His reward was a bite on the shoulder, harder than he was accustomed to.

The doors to the training deck opened in that moment. They both froze, Hunk’s teeth embedded in Lance’s shoulder, and cast a glance toward the noise, expecting Shiro, Allura, or Coran—some authority figure to scold them for getting it on in public. To their relief, and also shame, the interloper was just Keith. A very befuddled Keith who met eyes with Lance for a millisecond before he realized what they were doing. He immediately shielded his face with one hand and scuttled backward until he hit the wall.

“Jesus. God. I-I didn’t mean to—what are you—?”

At least Hunk had the decency to look embarrassed, but Lance with all his usual poise and grace intact, turned and asked with a casual and warm lilt to his voice, “You here to train, Keith?”

“No!” Keith shouted, “No. I’m not—” He hazarded another glance, as if reality would change if he did, and could only cover his eyes again after meeting with Hunk’s open trousers. “No training! Not doing that. No.”

At that point coherent speech completely abandoned him. His hand reached out to desperately pat the wall next to him, searching for the door panel.

“What?” Lance crooned, snickering when Hunk smacked him on the arm in reprimand. “You sure? ‘Cause Hunk and I can move over, or maybe we can all—”

The space alien gods smiled on Keith, choosing that moment to put the door panel under his palm. He smashed it and the door whooshed open again.

“No, it’s—I’m sorry—I’m sorry,” Keith said hastily, a little too loud and jittery, before hurtling out of the room with his eyes still covered. His shoulder glanced off the side of the doorway on his way out, door closing behind him.

“Of _course_ Keith would want to train at this hour,” Hunk groaned to himself.

Lance cupped the sides of his face, pressing fingers into his lymph nodes and against arteries, touching way too many important places at once in a gesture so gentle and unthreatening it was almost scary. It brought Hunk back with startling clarity to the current situation, and he almost completely forgot Keith had walked in. Those hands slowly slid down to his chest, then lower, Lance sliding down his body along with them until he was on his knees. Lance maintained eye contact, even as he pulled Hunk’s erection free and licked a stripe up the underside.

The heat and expectation in Hunk’s gaze made Lance flush with smug excitement. Stroking with one hand, he leaned in and suckled on one of Hunk’s balls.

A hand came down to grip his hair as Hunk said huskily, “Don’t play around, Lance.” Nails dug into Lance’s scalp with promise.

Eagerly he wrapped his lips around the head of Hunk’s cock, a pleased moan dancing out along the taut flesh. The taste of sweat and arousal filled his mouth and brought more red to his cheeks, bidding him to lean down and take in Hunk as far as he could. He gagged the first time, then regained his composure, relaxed his throat, and tried taking him in to the root. All the while, Hunk struggled to keep from thrusting in.

Briefly the image of Keith flashed back into Lance’s mind, the fantasy of him with his mouth open and waiting to be fucked. Too bad he ran away so quickly. The image dispersed as the head of Hunk’s cock finally met with the back of his throat. He slackened his jaw, letting the skin slide thick and heavy over his tongue, before sucking back to the tip. Twice more and he glanced up with hazy eyes—a long-awaited signal. Hands cupped the back of his head and he groaned as Hunk gave a slow, experimental thrust to test if Lance could handle it. It was the only warning he got before Hunk set a steady, firm pace that had him coming apart.

He could barely get a groan out around Hunk’s dick. Too fucking big, there has to be a limit, Lance thought, and yet his own arousal pulsed in time with every press against places that were almost too deep. He opened eyes he didn’t remember closing and looked up again to see Hunk biting his lip, watching with all the intensity of a black hole. Lance let his body melt into an arch, knees spreading open, submitting everything to that gaze. And it made Hunk fuck his mouth that much harder, until Lance was practically mewling. He had to steady himself with a hand against Hunk’s thigh, his other hand tugging down his own zipper with difficulty.

He closed his eyes, feeling the slick mess of spit, fluid, and beaded tears on his cheeks and chin, and masturbated to the sensation while Hunk filled him up.

The next time he opened his eyes, his bleary vision wandered past Hunk’s huge frame, and in that moment he glimpsed the observation deck. Standing there was not just Keith, but also Pidge, the latter looking down on them completely nonplussed.

The former looked like a fucking mess. Lance was treated to the sight of Keith’s eyes blown wide with confusion and something else warm, cheeks redder than his lion. Even from the training deck Lance could see his breath going a mile a minute in his chest, just like it did in the heat of a simulated battle. And he was looking straight at Lance with a stare so intense, they couldn’t help locking eyes. When they did, Keith shouted something at Pidge and then turned tail and ran, leaving Lance with a mixture of disappointment and pride rolling around in his stomach.

Keith had stayed. He’d caught them in the act, and he’d _stayed_ to watch Lance get fucked. Maybe that had been by accident—he’d probably just gone to warn Pidge, not to get an update on the action. But whether circumstance led Keith back to the observation deck didn’t matter.

His thoughts were derailed as Hunk thrust in and held Lance against his cock for a few moments, the continued pressure drawing a small sob until he was released and they returned to the steady pace from before. Brushing Lance’s forehead with a thumb, Hunk muttered, “You’re so fucking hot. Wish I could take a snapshot of this, then I could show everyone.”

Lance moaned brokenly, the vibration drawing a groan from Hunk. Lance couldn’t fucking take it. He thumbed over his slit, rocking into his own hand while leaking a continuous string of desperate sounds. He imagined Keith was still there, arrested on the observation deck, watching with heavy breath as he was fucked senseless. He chanced another look at the deck, knowing that Keith was already gone.

However, to his surprise, Pidge was still there. It took him a minute to process, but then the realization hit him, and cleared up some of the fog in his brain. She was still there. Still watching.

And unlike Keith, meeting eyes with Lance did not deter her. In fact, even though she was obviously keying commands into some device, she never once looked at its display. She pointedly ignored it in favor of watching him like a bird of prey.

Why was she watching? Was she mad, like last time? Her eyes drank him in, washing over his whole body like Atlantic waves—ice-cold, sticking to every inch of skin. He suddenly realized how humiliatingly open he was, thighs spread apart and mouth stuffed with his friend’s dick. _Their_ friend’s dick. He knew he should be ashamed by this. This should’ve been a turn-off.

And yet, the embarrassment only made his knees shake with excitement. A simultaneously cold-and-hot sensation ran down his spine, making him shiver.

This was different than when Keith watched him. This gaze had all the precision of a surgeon. It was ten times as focused, and it saw everything. Objective for now, but at a moment’s notice could become approval or displeasure, depending on the results of examination.

More tears seeped out the sides of his eyes and his cock swelled. He’d gripped himself without thinking, pulling in short strokes. He saw Pidge’s attention flick briefly to the offending hand, and then back to his face. Her long lashes blinked once, slowly, and a viciously triumphant smirk broke the cold mask for just a second.

Hunk chose that time to bring him down hard again, holding him there, and Lance sobbed again loudly, fingers flexing on Hunk’s thigh. His other hand was so wet, jerking himself off desperately, and he looked back up at Hunk once more, unable to see anything through the watery screen. Gradually, Hunk grew rougher in response, until he was clutching Lance’s skull, gasping, “I’m close. I’m so close,” with Lance not far behind.

And then, just as Lance spilled into his own palm, Hunk pulled out and pressed the head of his cock against Lance’s tongue. Lance’s fevered breaths washed over Hunk, who gave a few final strokes before coming in Lance’s mouth. A few thick strands splashed up onto his left eye and cheek. Trembling, Lance licked his lips and swallowed, feeling the come drip down his face. He must look wrecked right now. He looked expectantly up at the observation deck only to find that Pidge had left during Lance’s brief period of distraction. More disappointment settled in his stomach, along with something cold. He guessed he should be thankful she hadn’t yelled at them or asked them to stop.

At least Hunk had some appreciation, helping him stand while peppering him with words of praise and soft kisses. That staved off some of the uneasiness. Lance knew he had to tell Hunk about Keith and Pidge, but later, he decided.

They cleaned each other up and threw on their clothes, both extremely tired and feeling they’d done enough for the day. Hunk made for the door panel, Lance following with a yawn and a stretch.

“Can I sleep in your room? Mine’s a little gross, the sheets haven’t been washed since last week,” Lance asked, hands laced behind his head. After a moment of silence, he noticed Hunk desperately jabbing a finger at the door panel. “What’s wrong?”

In retrospect, knowing who had just left their presence with a smug fucking smirk on her face, Lance should’ve expected the answer. 

With equal amounts of confusion and exhaustion, Hunk replied, “It’s locked.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rescue from the training deck took two hours of Hunk fiddling with the door panel until Shiro happened by and heard the racket. Lance hid himself and his stained pants behind Hunk as they both blurted out incongruent explanations for what had happened. Their commander narrowed his eyes but said nothing and wished them a good night—almost as curt as Keith. Considering the late hour, they guessed Shiro was on one of his “PTSD” walks, as Lance tactfully called them. Accurate, albeit inconsiderate. They thanked their lucky stars and retreated to Hunk’s room to sleep.

The next day, Keith made himself scarce at breakfast, and at lunch too. At dinner he finally made his appearance, beaten half to death by training gladiators and unable to look either Lance or Hunk in the eyes. Shiro made the astute observation that Keith had more bruises than skin, to which the younger mumbled unintelligibly, knocked back the rest of his food goop and set out into the belly of the Castle. Presumably to get his ass kicked some more.

When Hunk questioned the odd behavior, Lance had no choice but to fill him in on their resident voyeurs. Still, he had fun watching Hunk’s face morph into ruddy horror. The whole situation amused Lance to no end.

What wasn’t amusing, though, was seeing Pidge again. He wasn’t exactly _friendly_ to her at breakfast because, well, he was still the teensiest bit bitter about being locked in the training deck. But that didn’t merit the vacant stares in his direction. Every time he tried to meet her gaze with a (well-deserved!) glare, she passed over him like he didn’t exist, and started up a conversation with someone else at the table. When he chimed in with a comment she acted like he hadn’t said anything. She eventually left without a word that remotely acknowledged his presence.

Feeling more than a little slighted, when she skipped lunch as well, he loudly announced to Hunk that he’d hand-deliver her a meal, since she must be working so hard. You know, in case anybody might question his motives.

He found her, as usual, working on some machine whose purpose he hadn’t the foggiest notion and barely recognized as a working device. She was knee-deep in chips and wires when he approached.

“Some sustenance for our diligent techie,” Lance said, presenting the bowl with great showmanship. “Our flavor of the day is gruel.”

“Mm-hm,” she replied without looking at him, taking the bowl only to set it on the ground.

He curled up his lip and leaned down to peek at her work. “I’ll never understand why you and Hunk love this shit so much.”

Pidge glanced up disdainfully. “Can’t you find something better to do than bother me?”

The reply, cold even for Pidge, shocked him into silence. She immediately turned back to her work, and that was that. He left feeling more irritated and confused than before.

Later, at dinner, she gave him more of the silent treatment, but at least she seemed to notice he was there. He didn’t know if that was better or worse, because she kept giving him strange looks. Like he’d done something bad, or stumbled on something he wasn’t supposed to. He expected some awkwardness after what she saw on the training deck, but never to this degree. She looked at him like he had a disease.

The next few days after that were the same. She made appearances at meals—as well as Keith—while keeping up her passive-aggressive assault. Well, it _felt_ like an assault, but no one else seemed to notice. Maybe Shiro noticed one or two rude comments Pidge made, but if he did, he said nothing.

After three days of this psychological warfare passed unnoticed, Lance came to terms with it. He was probably just freaking out. If Pidge was really mad, she’d say something, or at least use the incident to torture him. That thought gave him enough comfort to let the pointed stares roll off his back. Once he adopted the proper mind frame, things returned to normal.

He was fine. For approximately three hours, until he went to sleep.

 

One of his fleeting REM stages found him sitting on murky-black ground, legs splayed out and extremely naked. The entire surrounding area was empty and shrouded in darkness. He felt something behind him, breathing down his neck like a predator only one wrong move away from taking him apart. Every muscle in his back and shoulders tensed.

In front of him, a full-length mirror slowly rose up from the ground. In its reflection he saw a familiar face at his shoulder, lips drawn up in a thin smirk. He had just enough time to register who it was before her small hand reached up and covered his eyes.

She issued a command in his right ear. He couldn’t hear the words, but felt their shape and power. His left hand drifted to where his groin met thigh and kneaded the skin, teasing out the first sparks of warmth in his hips. Another command came and he stroked mindlessly up the inside of his thigh, back down to the groin, awakening nerve endings in his legs that shouldn’t be connected to the dick but apparently were. Her next direction had him exploring his own chest, down his sides to his hips, and along the skin of his stomach, anywhere except his growing arousal. If even one pinky finger strayed towards red, yearning flesh, a shock of fear raced up his spine and froze his hand—a wordless warning from behind.

He didn’t have to wait long. Soon enough he felt the looming threat disperse, and with it, the darkness clouding his vision. He saw the mirror again, saw himself in its face, body and prick stiff in anticipation. His eyes were still completely covered. His visual point of focus shifted against his will, flicking to meet the hazel eyes of his tormenter, and he quickly realized:

He was watching through her eyes.

Without giving him another moment to think, she gave him the next instruction, and his hand automatically moved to wrap around his cock. He couldn’t refuse even if he wanted to, and he wasn’t sure what he wanted at this point, with warm pleasure foregrounded by confusion and fear of failing to obey.

What he wanted didn’t matter anyway. She was in control now, of everything including the way he saw himself. A fact he couldn’t help but fixate on as he watched his lascivious hips rolling into his own hand, stomach rippling and shuddering. Her stare catalogued every detail in hyper-realistic color, leading his mind’s eye through an intimate tour of each twitching muscle. First over his arms, down his torso, and finally coming to drift along his tense thighs. He could see each raised pore timidly flower and ooze sweat. Not an ounce of attention was paid to his proud cock or pink entrance, despite her command. Instead she chose to pick apart every other piece of him. She even singled out the individual strands of his brown hair, and the saliva beading underneath his tongue.

A soft hand came to rest on his hip and she leaned in to put her mouth close to his ear. Her eyes fixed on the mirror, looking into the reflection of her own pupils, and Lance knew she could see him there. She had no fear of him being so close and no need to let him in closer. He felt more than ever how impenetrable she was. The thought filled him with unease and sadness.

Then she leaned in and whispered low into his ear, voice teeming with a feeling between disgust and sweet admiration. He gave a broken cry and watched himself spill over his own hand. As he came down from the high, blood singing through his veins, her fingers slipped from his eyes. With his own sight restored to him, he watched her nuzzle her pointed nose into the crook of his neck.

 

Lance jolted awake, heart hammering in his chest. Sitting up to take a look at his surroundings, he found himself in Hunk’s bed, wearing his hoodie from the previous day and nothing else.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and turned to see Hunk on his side, yawning.

The first coherent words out of his mouth were, “Why are you _awake_?”

Lance scoffed and fell back onto the bed, resting a forearm against his head. “Had a weird dream,” he mumbled, pulse still stuttering. The entire bed seemed to shift and roll.

“About what?” Hunk yawned again, already drifting back to sleep.

Lance pursed his lips, wondering exactly how to explain he’d just had a wet dream about the most incomprehensible and unerotic member of Voltron—save for Coran, maybe. Not even a wet dream, a wet nightmare. Maybe if Lance stayed quiet long enough Hunk would go back to sleep and he wouldn’t have to talk about it.

Fate conspired against him. Hunk grunted into the sheets, “Don’t go silent on me, man, I won’t make it.”

“You could just go back to sleep,” Lance suggested.

No answer. Lance was just beginning to think Hunk had taken his advice when the big guy shifted onto his elbow, bracing himself with a pillow.

“Alright,” Hunk heaved a sigh, draping an arm over Lance’s stomach, “I’m awake. Tell me what happened.”

Lance shrugged. “It’s no big deal. I mean, probably. Dreams don’t have to mean anything, right?”

“Not always, no,” Hunk answered. Even while squinting one eye and desperately fighting off sleep, he managed to make the astute observation, “So this is a dream you hope doesn’t mean anything?”

“Ugh,” Lance replied intelligently, burying his head in Hunk’s chest. He remarked to himself that Hunk’s tits really were a blessing. They did wonders for his developing headache. “I guess. I had a weird dream about Pidge. We were in front of this mirror and she was like, watching me jack off. But not in a sexy way.” He paused. “Well, I mean, I’m pretty sure I came, but it just felt … weird. And creepy.”

He quickly checked and found, to his relief, that he hadn’t actually creamed himself while he was asleep. Not that it made the situation much better.

“What is up with you and Pidge lately?” Hunk asked, the light of consciousness returning a little more fully to his face. “You’ve barely been talking the past couple days. Did you get into a fight?”

Appalled, Lance drew back and punched him in the shoulder. “If you knew something was wrong, why didn’t you _say_ anything? I thought it was just me! She’s been ignoring me all week.”

“I don’t just mean that, though. I mean the flirting with her too.” Hunk cracked a smile. “Not that ‘flirt’ isn’t your middle name. But it feels like there’s more to it than that.”

All the wind went out of Lance’s sails. He settled back down against Hunk’s chest and sighed, “I dunno, man. She’s just … she’s been acting strange ever since she caught us in the shower.”

Reaching across Lance’s stomach to take his hand, Hunk pointed out, “Well, that’s an uncomfortable thing to walk in on.”

“Well if it was _so_ _uncomfortable_ ,” Lance argued snootily, even while lacing their fingers together, “Why didn’t she leave when we were getting it on in the training room?”

“I still can’t believe she locked us in.” Hunk grimaced at the memory. “You said she was just … watching? The whole time?”

“Yeah.” Lance shrugged one shoulder. “Never broke eye-contact, though she kept tapping away on one of her computer thingies. She probably only blinked twice. It was unnerving as hell.”

Hunk chewed that over for a moment. “You didn’t mind it enough to stop.”

“Well duh. If she wants to stick around and watch, who cares? But she gives me these weird looks ever since.” A scowl grew on Lance’s face. “She never looks at you weird. I can’t stand it.”

“Maybe it’s in your head?” Hunk suggested. “She’s never had a problem with us having sex.”

In fact, Pidge had shown their relationship the most acceptance. They started going out towards the end of their time at the academy—only a few months prior to running into Keith and Shiro—and Pidge was the first of a handful of people to find out. They weren’t even really “dating” per se, but whatever they were at the time, it wasn’t the sort of relationship they could hide from a teammate. When she found out, she had no comment other than a casual “I’m happy for you.” She continued acting the way she always had.

After boarding the Castle-ship, the other Voltron members found out quickly, too. The first mind-meld they all shared when learning to form Voltron leaked a lot of secrets. Nobody said anything, other than Shiro, who once awkwardly assured them that they could be as open and affectionate as they pleased. And that if they ever needed any advice, their crew would be there for them.

At the time, it made Hunk and Lance laugh. They weren’t monogamously committed by any stretch of the imagination. Their relationship had always been a sharing of something intimate, something visceral, that they both just happened to be close enough to share. All the responsibilities of a paladin and a few close encounters with death had rapidly complicated that since then. Their relationships with the others had also mutated and branched off into new, exciting, uncomfortable territories.

Instead of answering, Lance picked at some loose skin on Hunk’s finger and asked, “Do you think Pidge ever … you know … screws around with the others?”

“I don’t know,” Hunk answered honestly. “I always thought she, Keith, and Shiro weren’t into that sort of thing.”

“Until you fucked Keith,” Lance reminded him with a suggestive eyebrow.

Hunk rolled his eyes. “I didn’t fuck him!”

“Then what did you do?” Lance whined, molding their bodies together in the hopes of persuading him. “C’mon, it’s killing me.”

“Sure it is. Still not gonna tell you. Keith’s a private guy, I’m not going to kiss and tell. The fact that I said anything at all is already a breach of trust.” When Lance opened his mouth to argue, Hunk flicked his forehead and added, “Don’t bring your competition with him into sex.”

Lance huffed, “Why do I need to compete with him in a field I’ve already mastered?” Hunk gave no response, making it sound all the more like Lance had questioned himself. After a few more moments of steeping in his own pout, he mumbled, “D’you think ... maybe Pidge and Shiro are the same way? They want something physical, and they’re keeping it private?”

Hunk mulled it over. “I definitely think Shiro values physical contact, but maybe not—” he gestured between himself and Lance, “—this way. And Pidge …”

He propped up his cheek in his hand, letting out a small sigh. “Who knows what she wants. Even when we all form Voltron, it’s hard to tell.”

“See, it bothers you too,” Lance observed triumphantly.

“Not as much as it bothers you, apparently.” He studied Lance, whose pout had grown into a scowl. And who also, notably, chose to fidget with Hunk’s hand instead of his own. Which was fine, but soon he’d run out of loose skin to pick at. “Why don’t you just talk to her?”

“And say what? ‘You really disturb me sometimes but I still had a weird wet dream about you?’”

“Why not?” Hunk asked, immediately earning a shove. “I’m serious. If she’s doing something that bothers you, don’t you think she’d want to know?”

“She already knows!” Lance cried, throwing his hands in the air. “She has to, or else she wouldn’t be acting like this.”

“What if she doesn’t know?”

“She knows,” Lance protested childishly, not willing to entertain any other notions.

“All I’m saying,” Hunk continued, ignoring his rebellion, “Is you two are a team. We’re all a team. You should work on this together.” After enduring another swath of silence, Hunk laid back down and pressed their foreheads together. His eyes closed again.

“You can’t avoid it forever,” he stated redundantly.

Lance was painfully aware.

 

After they got up that morning, Lance threw on his briefs and trudged to the kitchen alone. He was in and out with a bowl of goo in his hands before anyone could get there. He didn’t want to wait for Hunk to make it edible. Didn’t really want to see him at all for a while. The talk they had about Pidge was still fresh in his mind, and he was already tired of thinking.

So he returned to his room before Hunk could even poke his head out into the hallway, and holed up for the day. He knew better than to lock his door—Hunk would notice he was absent and come knocking, and if he saw the door was locked, he’d know something was wrong. He’d know Lance was avoiding Pidge, and more importantly, avoiding him too. And then Lance would never hear the end of the coaxing to come out, or to at least open the door.

He guessed if someone came by to bother him, he could always go hide in Blue’s cockpit. But then again she’d probably want to talk about Pidge too.

He whittled the day away listening to music and reading some Altean literature Coran had found stored on a holographic file somewhere in the Castle. When lunchtime came around, he took out his ear-buds to listen for anyone at the door. No one came. It was to be expected—sometimes he was busy and missed lunch. Dinner would be a different beast.

He waited an hour before slipping out to get himself some more to eat. This time there were leftovers from whatever semblance of food Hunk had managed to create for breakfast. Lance, still in his briefs and hoodie, spooned a generous portion for himself into the bowl he’d eaten from earlier in the morning.

He was about to leave the kitchen when he heard a familiar pair of boots clomping around the dining room. Peeking out from behind the doorway, he saw Keith, thrusting out his legs in a stiff gait while his head turned back and forth, searching for something.

As soon as Lance laid eyes on him, Keith shouted, “Lance? Lance, where are you?” The sound was louder than an air-raid alarm.

Lance flinched. Had he been seen? No, if he had, Keith would be headed for the kitchen, not dancing in semi-circles like a confused blackbird.

Eventually Keith left and Lance let out a sigh of relief, fingers aching. He’d been clutching his bowl in a vice grip. If Keith hadn’t been by his room yet, it would only be a matter of time. Maybe he should go eat with Blue after all. He’d almost made up his mind when he felt a hand on his shoulder that made him jump three feet in the air.

He turned to see their ever-dutiful commander behind him, eyebrows almost as high as Lance had jumped.

“Shiiiirrooo,” Lance called in fake camaraderie, doing his patented finger guns to the best of his ability. “Shiro, buddy, pal, how’s it going?”

“Good, thank you,” Shiro answered cordially before immediately blasting ahead. “So … were you avoiding Keith just now?”

“Hahaha, Shiro, my _man_ ,” Lance emphasized their closeness again, shoulders drawing up along with his forced smile, “‘avoid’ is such a strong word. I didn’t avoid him, he just failed to run into me.”

That brought Shiro’s eyebrows back down. “Uh huh. Well, I’m glad to see you’re eating. Hunk’s been worried about you.”

Waving away the concern with a hand, Lance scoffed, “Hunk worries about me like it’s his job. I’m fine, I was just busy reading.”

He didn’t really want to continue the conversation, partly because he knew that if he stared Shiro in the eye too long he’d read his thoughts. That intuition was infuriating. So he went and sat down in the kitchen, figuring that if he’d already been caught, what did it matter? There were worse people to be caught by than Shiro. He’d finish up quick and retreat to his room where, hopefully, Keith would never think to go.

After he sat down at the table, he could still feel Shiro’s eyes on him. He ducked his head into his bowl and voraciously ate, wishing Shiro would stop staring and either go away or come closer.

Instead of taking either action, Shiro asked calmly from behind, “Do you want me to be your lookout?”

Lance turned around and gave him a quizzical look. Shiro leaned against the doorway and gestured with his metal arm towards Lance’s bare legs and briefs. Coloring in embarrassment, Lance hid his face in the bowl again and said through a mouthful of food, “I guess. If you want to. It’s no big deal.”

He finished soon enough, the whole while still feeling like he was pinned beneath Shiro’s gaze. He stood and returned the bowl to the kitchen, and Shiro let him push past, still watching with that keen eye that could tell more at a glance than Lance could convey with a thousand words. They both stood there waiting—Lance at a loss for words, and Shiro with some on the tip of his tongue.

“I take it you want some alone time today,” Shiro guessed. Lance didn’t bother nodding. “If someone asks where you are, should I tell them that?”

“If you tell them that, they’re only going to want find me more,” Lance pointed out with a frown.

“I can’t exactly lie to them,” Shiro said, making an equally good point.

The frown on Lance’s face grew into a scowl. He watched Shiro’s eyes roll upward, lips pursing. “But,” he continued slowly, “if at that very moment I happened to have, say, a muscle spasm …”

He jerked the metal arm up and made a pointing motion—notably, in the direction opposite of Lance’s room.

With a small smile, Shiro finished, “I can’t help how that might be interpreted.”

Lance flushed again, laughing nervously, “Ha, haha, right. Can’t help that …”

Shiro patted him on the shoulder, gave him a wink, and said, “I’m always here, so if you want, come find me.” As the arm fell from his skin, it hit Lance like a brick how handsome Shiro was. Luckily Shiro had already turned around and couldn’t see the confliction on Lance’s face. Way to go, Lance, embarrass yourself in front of your idol. He quickly scurried back to his room before he could do any more damage to his fragile, self-imposed reputation.

Apparently Shiro’s convenient muscle spasms, if they were ever called upon, did little to deter Lance’s unwanted visitor. About another hour later, while Lance was reclining and reading, a knock came at the door. It went unnoticed, buried under the dulcet tones of Beyonce’s “All the Single Ladies” (a song still culturally relevant, as Lance had argued on more than one occasion).

And then just like that, without a second knock, Keith barged in with all the subtlety of a fog-horn, yelling Lance’s name into the enclosed room. For the second time that day Lance was airborne. He pulled out his ear-buds and shouted, “Don’t you knock?!” The confusion in Keith’s expression was lost on him. “What’s so damn important?”

Wordlessly Keith held up a deck of playing cards. A personal deck that Shiro took time out of his busy life to make by hand over the course of a few days. Jealousy flared up in Lance’s stomach.

“Want to play?” Keith asked in a stilted way that suggested friendly invitations were a muscle he’d never exercised much. Lance slowly remembered the fuss he’d made earlier in the week over … _card games_.

He stuck out his bottom lip, not willing to accept this kindness, even though Keith was obviously trying really hard. And if his earlier sighting in the dining room was any indication, he’d been looking for Lance for at least over an hour.

Ungrateful as ever, Lance replied, “No thanks. For your information, I was in the middle of a wonderful story, getting to the climax of Bey-Bey’s lyrical genius. Surely you’ve heard the line? ‘Don’t treat me to these things of the world, I’m not that kind of girl, your love is what I prefer, what I deserve?’”

He might as well have been speaking French. Face twisting in well-justified irritation, Keith turned away and said, “Alright. I’ll go ask Hunk then.”

“Oh no,” Lance countered, holding up a finger, “What did I tell you about playing card games with other people’s friends? You think me knowing makes it okay?”

Keith stopped near the door, took a deep breath, then leaned his head back and let out the biggest sigh Lance had ever heard him make. It trailed off into an exasperated groan, like all the air was pressed out of him in a wheeze. Then he turned around and sat down at the edge of Lance’s bed, shuffling the deck.

“What’re you doing? I told you I didn’t want to play,” Lance protested petulantly.

Keith’s hands were a blur. He didn’t look up. “Well I do.”

Lance grimaced at Keith’s boots as the latter gathered his feet underneath himself, sitting cross-legged. “How can you put your shoes on my sheets? You animal—”

The insult had barely gotten out of his mouth before Keith stuck out his leg and kicked one boot off. It flew across the room and hit the wall with a dull thud. He pulled the other boot off with his right hand, the left continuing to shuffle. Then he gathered his feet under him again—equally as dirty and awful as the boots had been, to Lance’s chagrin.

If Keith noticed, he certainly didn’t care. He deftly divvyed up their cards, passing Lance half a deck, and said matter-of-factly, “We’re playing War. No bets. Just for fun.”

Lance almost opened his mouth to question how such a charged session of a game named after the worst human invention known to man could possibly be fun, but he knew to accept an olive branch when he was offered one. He took the deck and they began to play.

They were silent for a long first few rounds. Keith absent-mindedly kept verbal track of the score. He was winning by a few hands, but for some reason Lance found it hard to be annoyed.

“What were you reading?” Keith piped up after a while, once again exposing his mortal weakness—small talk.

“Some Altean romance novel, I think. Coran lent it to me.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in. Keith looked up curiously while Lance laid down his card. “When did you learn to read Altean?”

Shrugging one shoulder, Lance answered, “Pidge taught me some. Apparently the Castle has a language-teaching system, but she says it’s scary. I don’t know how that’s possible, but it’s better to have a teacher anyway. Still can’t understand most of the novel, but … romance doesn’t change much, y’know? Just the courting rituals.”

There was that damn name again. It had rolled so easily off his tongue, but still left a bitter taste behind. He knew this would happen. He should’ve locked the door, Hunk and everyone be damned. He should’ve kicked Keith out for ruining his day of solitude and self-pity.

Instead, he laid down a king while Keith drew an ace. Automatically Keith reached for the cards, but before he could grab them Lance whisked them to his own victory pile. The look of offense he received was almost delicious.

“What?” Lance asked innocently. “House rules—aces have a value of one.”

“I’ve never heard that rule before,” Keith contended warily, reaching for Lance’s hand.

Smirking, Lance simply replied, “You played cards much before getting exiled to the desert?”

Keith’s eyes burned. He knew it was bullshit, they both knew it was bullshit, but the desert was a trump card he could never fight. It was the uncertainty that maybe, somehow, Lance was right. Maybe he had missed something. They moved on to the next hand, a chip embedded in Keith’s shoulder. The palpable frustration brought a bigger smile to Lance’s face.

He wondered why they were here, playing cards together, when he was obviously unbearable company. He went out of his way to be unbearable towards Keith most days. At this point, it was less viciousness and ingrained habit. He thought maybe they had finally made their way into some tentative acquaintanceship, or rivalry, or something in between, but then Keith did shit like this sometimes—shit he obviously didn’t want to do—and Lance had to reevaluate the tenuous relationship all over again.

It always came back to the same point: he had no idea how to feel about Keith. He was boring and predictable as paste dripping down a wall, interesting only for the myriad of ways he could be stirred up. Well, and whatever he and Hunk had done in secret. Which, Lance hated to admit, still evoked plenty of jealousy. Still called forth fantasies of that pretty little mouth. If anybody asked, Lance would vehemently deny any attraction, but maybe that was because all previous attempts at flirting had failed miserably.

But Keith was still there, folded up at the end of the bed, despite everything.

“I thought you’d be more freaked than this,” Lance muttered almost mindlessly. “After what you saw in the training room. Thought you’d be weirded out.”

Keith at least had the social aptitude to catch Lance’s meaning, cheeks coloring and eyes cast down. He must have been thinking about it a lot, Lance guessed. His chest swelled with pride as he remembered Keith’s bewildered expression, watching Hunk fuck his mouth. The memory brought enough warmth to Lance’s groin that he became painfully aware he was still in his fucking briefs. All of a sudden he wished he’d put some damn pants on earlier.

“It wasn’t weird,” Keith mumbled, laying down a six. “I wish you hadn’t done that on the training deck, but it wasn’t weird.”

There was a brief pause. Lance drew a nine and collected both cards. His eyes were drawn to the way Keith carefully gnawed his lip between too-straight teeth. The faintly pink color sent a lazy spark of arousal through his system.

His ass is flatter than the unforgiving state-wide stretch that is Oklahoma, Lance told himself. That mullet practically developed its own ecosystem. His feet are disgusting and smelly and are ruining the sheets. Remember the facts. These are just the facts.

“Do you think it was weird?” Keith asked, and Lance got the feeling they were asking two different questions.

“Pidge thought it was weird,” he answered vaguely, laying down another nine.

“Pidge stayed on the observation deck long after I left. _That_ was weird,” Keith observed, blunt as a mace. Something in Lance went slack with relief. Keith drew a six and, frowning, watched Lance collect both cards again.

“Does she have a problem with you?” Keith pressed.

“Don’t know. She’s too busy pretending I don’t exist.”

They laid down their cards at the same time. Yet again, Keith’s was a six and Lance’s a nine. They both stared in disbelief.

The sore loser asked, “What the fuck is wrong with this deck?”

This felt like a cosmic sign if ever there were one. Lance glanced up at Keith in an attempt to be suggestive, but Keith’s eyes remained fixed on the cards. Apparently the universe’s magical and mysterious divinations were completely lost on him. Idly Lance wondered if Keith drawing the lower card meant he’d be the little spoon. He didn’t seem like little spoon material.

Keith sat back, scraping his face with both palms. Lance scrutinized him carefully, noting the flex and pull of his ruddy knuckles.

Lance decided to venture out on a limb. “If you were in my shoes,” he started, “What would you do?”

The answer was immediate. “Train it off.”

“And how does that work out?” Lance inquired skeptically, twirling the string on his hoodie.

Keith’s hands came away from his face. “Pretty well, usually.”

That depended on how one defined “well.” Though if the bruises still fading on Keith’s skin were any indication, maybe “training it off” really did work to some degree. At least for some people.

Seeing that his advice wasn’t fit for the general, emotionally savvy populace, Keith offered, “I know what Shiro would say.”

Lance groaned and rolled his eyes. “Save it. I’ve already heard the team-building spiel.” Keith merely shrugged and held up his hands in surrender. Though, speaking of Shiro …

Lance licked at a crevice in the inside of his mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Shiro … play cards with anybody. Have you two ever …?”

“I’ve asked. He always says he doesn’t have the time.”

The way Keith’s nose and cheeks went pink, Lance wondered if he understood the euphemism after all.

Wetting his lips, Lance reminded himself, remember his ass. Remember how flat it was. How utterly unattractive. And he definitely didn’t catch the way it moved when Keith adjusted his position, or the jagged, muted outline of jean-clad hip. Definitely didn’t sneak a peek at the front of his tight jeans.

They picked up their cards again, and this time each pulled an ace. The clash that followed was all it took to dispel the tension in the air.

 

When dinnertime came Lance finally honored everyone with his presence—sufficiently more clothed than before. Of course, doing so meant Hunk fretted over him like a mother hen, but Lance had long grown accustomed to suffering for his gracious acts. At least Hunk made him some special dessert to cheer him up. As dinner progressed and it became apparent Pidge had no intention of joining them, Lance found he needed the cheering up.

He was scraping the last scraps out of his bowl when Coran walked into the dining room with his own belated dinner. He gave them a hearty greeting as he plopped down into his seat.

“I’m so hungry I could eat the table. I could eat the whole ship,” Coran declared, digging a spoon into his bowl. He jerked it back out suddenly to point it at Keith, who sat to his left, flinging a small gob of food onto his face. “I could even eat you guys! Any parts of your body you’re not attached to?”

“I’ve been told I technically only need one kidney,” Keith answered, notably disquieted.

Lance’s hand shot into the air like a javelin. “I call dibs.”

“What?” Coran squawked. “You can’t do that! I asked first—”

“No one is eating Keith’s kidney,” Shiro admonished firmly. He cast a glance at Keith, who sank in relief, and caught out of the corner of his eye Coran and Lance looking far too crestfallen.

Pidge didn’t bother showing up. According to Hunk, she hadn’t been seen or heard from all day either. Lance, in all his self-importance, couldn’t help but think he was the reason. But by this point, he’d somewhat begun to resign himself to the thought that she might hate him for a while. Even though she shouldn’t. Keith didn’t hate him. Well, he hated Lance, but not because of his sexual escapades.

After dinner, Hunk suggested they go hang out in the rec room. Coran and Hunk had worked very hard to figure out how to pick up signals for alien TV shows without their signal being picked up, and the large wall on the far end of the rec room was a perfect place to project a display. Though it wasn’t much of a rec room, in Lance’s opinion—wide open and dead except for a few tables, a sunken couch, cabinet-looking things he didn’t know how to open, and modules and decorations Coran had explained to all the paladins more than once to absolutely no avail. If Shiro couldn’t get it, Lance reasoned, nobody could.

On the way there, Shiro flagged Hunk down to ask for his help with something. Lance promised to meet him at the rec room and went on ahead. But when he got there, he didn’t expect to see Pidge there, sitting on the couch while she typed on that same PDA thingy from earlier, looking completely unaffected by the fact that she hadn’t faced Lance properly in several days. Anger shot through him.

He charged into the room, took a flying leap, and landed on the couch beside her. He paid for it with a sore pelvis, but the horrified look on her face was worthwhile.

The first words out of her mouth were a deliciously angry, “Lance, what the hell?”

Lance leaned back and put both hands behind his head, elbows jutting out just as obtusely as his own lack of courtesy. “Oh hey Pidge, didn’t see you there. You know, we really should get you a booster seat or something, or else when you sit down nobody can find you.”

“You made me drop my PDA thing,” she groaned, collecting her device from the ground.

Lance’s eyebrows shot up. “You call it that too?”

She fixed him with a look so judgmental he could feel his IQ drop fifty points just to match her opinion of his intelligence. “Even if I gave you the actual name, you wouldn’t remember it.”

She was probably right. Regardless, Lance felt offense rising in his chest. He played it cool and leaned over to look at the now officially-sanctioned “PDA thingy.”

“What’re you doing, anyway? Making friends with zeroes and ones?”

She paid no attention to his impeccable wit, tapping the screen with increasing frustration.

“Dammit, Lance, now it’s frozen,” she growled, forced to restart the device.

Pouting, he muttered, “That’s not my fault.”

She pressed the heel of her palm to her forehead and sucked in a breath through her teeth. “I was working on something _important_.” She turned and levelled him an even more judgmental gaze than the last one. “Can’t you find someone else to bother? Anyone?”

She turned back to her tablet without even waiting for his rebuttal, and held some button on its side. Lance felt the distance grow—felt himself go back to being both an invisible yet highly detestable creature, cordoned off by his teammate’s cold refusal. All humorous japes died in Lance’s throat. He stared at the PDA screen as it flickered into blackness.

“What is your problem with me?” he asked quietly.

“You fucked up my stuff—I was in the middle of something,” Pidge sighed, foot tapping a hundred miles an hour while she waited for her precious device to reboot.

“No, I don’t mean your problem with your _shit_ ,” Lance hissed, grabbing the tablet and wedging it behind him, “I mean your problem with _me_.”

Hazel eyes flashed in frustration. “My ‘shit’ is the only problem I have with you right now. What gives?”

“That’s what I want to ask you!” Lance cried out in exasperation. “For like, the past five days, whenever I see you, you start a fight with me! I mean, I’d expect this crap from Keith, but you? Usually you just tell me what’s wrong.”

Folding her arms petulantly, Pidge countered, “We argue all the time, though. It’s not a big deal.”

“What about the rest of the time, when you act like I don’t fucking exist?” he shouted, leaping to his feet and throwing his arms in the air. “You going to tell me that’s ‘no big deal’?”

Pidge’s mouth dropped open incredulously, but he barreled right through whatever she planned on saying.

“Oh, and I guess it just happened that you suddenly start treating me like shit after you walked in on me and Hunk in the showers? And I’ll bet it’s also a coincidence that it got worse after you caught us in the training room, huh? Well then why do you talk to Hunk regularly but I haven’t seen you in days?”

A faint light of acknowledgment pushed through the confusion on her face. Her mouth set in a thin line, furrowed brow brooking no entry into the labyrinthine hell-scape of her social consciousness. Lance bit his lip, teeth scraping madly at the skin, while he waited for an answer that never came.

“If you think I’m gross then just _say_ so,” he finished, unable to keep his voice from breaking.

Pidge’s expression underwent an emotional landslide. He saw an alarm usually reserved for battle; the panic of self-realized guilt; the embarrassment of being discovered; and the melted hazel of once-cold eyes; all glimpsed in a few moments. Then she hardened herself again, grabbed the PDA thingy, and frantically tapped at the display.

“Put that down and answer me,” Lance demanded.

She pressed one more button and then shoved the tablet into his hands, seething, “Just hit the play button.”

Lance scanned the screen in front of him. She’d loaded up some kind of file with the name CastleLog_SurveillanceTD with a timestamp in the wee hours of the morning and a subtitle of “LanceH.” Eyes widening, Lance glanced at Pidge who sat waiting, arms linked like iron bars across her chest. He hit the small green play button next to the file.

The screen suddenly cut to feed of the training deck from the night of his and Hunk’s liaison, right at the moment that Lance took Hunk in his mouth. He watched dumbly as the scene replayed in its entirety, capturing even the moment when he caught Keith’s eye—which was, apparently, in almost the same exact direction as the lens of whatever surveillance device was taking footage. It took Lance a few minutes to regain his grip on reality. This innocent-looking file had obviously been purposefully cropped out of the general feed. Hand-selected.

He felt his face grow hot and swallowed in time with the image of himself on-screen. “How much did you …?”

“You want to keep watching and find out? Whatever, it’s just catalogued footage,” she scoffed angrily, leaning over to snatch back the device.

He jerked it away, heart beating swiftly. “You watched this again later.” Pidge winced. Lance pressed again, giddiness jumping circles in his ribcage, “I can’t believe you. It got you hot, didn’t it?”

She glowered, not a hint of warmth to her cheeks. “Strong words from the guy who came all over himself from being watched.”

“So you _did_ watch me come,” Lance declared triumphantly, turning back to the screen as if to get a double confirmation, only to catch Hunk holding him down on his cock. “Oh shit.”

Pidge sat up completely straight, eyes going freezing cold again, and she admitted, “Yes, I did. I watched Hunk too. So what?”

Jabbing a finger into her shoulder, Lance grinned smugly, “You thought I was _hot_. Even though you complained in the showers, and _made fun of me_ ,” he accentuated this with more jabbing, “you still _recorded_ me. Getting my mouth fucked.”

“I recorded Hunk too!”

“Then why does the file say Lance?” he argued, pointing to the screen as evidence, where the clip was still continuing uninhibited.

Pidge made sure to mash the pause button before pointing to the comparatively miniscule letter following Lance’s name, saying, “It says ‘LanceH!’ The H stands for ‘Hunk!’”

“You can barely even see his face in the video. You thought I was hot!”

Fed up with this pathetically childish altercation, Pidge jumped off the couch and onto her feet. “You know what? Fine! You looked good, Lance! Real good! You looked _really damn good_ with Hunk’s dick in your mouth!”

Warmth bloomed all the way from the base of Lance’s skull to his shoulders, chest, and stomach. He shouted a victorious “Aha!” but admittedly the compliment felt less edifying when he knew Pidge was about to punch him in the face.

“Which,” Pidge continued, brandishing a sharp finger, “is due _mainly_ to the fact that for once your mouth was open but stupid shit wasn’t coming out of it. So what, you going to tell my mom on me?”

“I’d _never_ tell on you to Shiro,” Lance gasped in mock betrayal. “You think I’m a monster?”

Now it was Pidge’s turn to raise her hands to the sky. “I knew you’d be insufferable! I fucking knew it!”

“Aw, don’t get maaad,” Lance crooned, feeling a little punch-drunk, “I invited you before, but you thought you were too good!” He reached out for her with one hand. “Maybe if you ask me _really_ nicely—”

“Fuck you, no, hey!”

She beat him back with both her fists, almost whacking him in the eye. Lance held up the tablet to shield himself, which magically warded off her blows like Kryptonite. Apparently, bludgeoning a teammate was acceptable, but this equipment was too precious to destroy. Along with a certain equally precious _file_ , Lance preened himself, feeling his smile grow wider with each passing second of furious combat.

Then, someone near the entrance to the room cleared their throat loudly. Both combatants froze and turned to face the doorway where, to their surprise, Hunk was standing.

Lance had the grace to look a bit bashful. “Heya, big guy. How long you been standing there?”

“For a few minutes,” Hunk answered rather nonchalantly. “What were you guys saying about my dick?”

“Uggh,” Pidge groaned, flopping back down on the couch. She covered her face with a hand.

“Pidge recorded us! Come look,” Lance said, deliberately sitting a little too close to his tormentee, leaving a space wide open for Hunk at the other end of the couch.

“Okay?” Hunk murmured, sitting down to watch Lance play the file from the beginning. “Oh. Ohhh. Whoa. Wait, so Pidge—”

“Yup!” Lance interjected, “Named the file after us and everything.” He leaned over, head almost touching Hunk’s shoulder, and grinned lewdly. “We were really hot. Pidge said so herself.”

At Hunk’s quizzical look, Pidge once more raised her hands to the sky. “I’m not saying it again.”

“So … I’m confused. Did you guys have a talk or what?” Hunk asked, lips pursed. “Are you good now? If Pidge has this footage, that means she’s okay with us. Right?”

Pidge sighed, “I already told Lance, we’re fine.”

That seemed to brighten Hunk’s spirits considerably. Might have even made up for, you know, the creep factor of being recorded in a carnal act without his or Lance’s permission. Though judging from the elation Lance now exuded from every pore, maybe this could be considered retroactive consent.

“We should make a new one!” Lance suggested brightly. “A new video. Another sexy one.” He carelessly tossed the PDA thing at Pidge and climbed on top of Hunk.

The other two paladins balked in unison. “Right now?”

“That video was made from surveillance footage, right?” Hunk turned to Pidge, voice rising a little in pitch. “So, y’know, theoretically, Allura or Coran could see it, right? Or pretty much anyone?”

Pouting, Lance whined, “What are the chances of them seeing? You think they check that footage regularly?”

The look Hunk gave him was not as judgmental as the ones Pidge had given him before, but made him feel every bit as lacking in the mental department. So, that was a yes.

They both looked to Pidge for support in their respective causes, only to find her arms barring her chest again, knees drawn up, like a spider curling in on itself in the freezing cold. Lance couldn’t tell if she was dying or suffering an intense internal debate. When she met his eyes by chance, he realized it was the latter.

“I could delete the footage later,” she piped up, stretching back out to normal size. “Excise the good parts, save the file, then synch up the loose ends on the original footage. It’d be like it never happened.”

“What about the timestamps? Don’t you think someone will notice? They’ll know it was you.” All great points Hunk was making here.

Pidge shrugged both shoulders and crinkled her nose. “So? What do you think they’ll do? Say, ‘hey, total shot in the dark here, but were you filming a porno in the rec room?’ Besides, I already deleted the footage from when you were getting it on in the training room and nobody’s noticed yet.”

Lance leaned forward, letting his hips with Hunk’s, giving a flirty wiggle. “See,” he breathed fervently, “Pidge is game.”

There was a brief pause on Hunk’s part, where he let Lance softly rut against him and kiss the nape of his neck. Looking over uncertainly at Pidge, who sat inscrutable and stony-faced as ever on the opposite end of the couch, he asked, “Game for what, exactly?”

The smallest sliver of a smile. “I’ll just watch.”

Lance felt Hunk’s whole body shiver. Only a small one, but he bet Pidge caught it too. Can’t hide signs of weakness from her. Feeling super-charged and confident, Lance found that discomfort looked nice on Hunk for a change. Real nice.

“Doesn’t this make you uncomfortable? Like, at all?” Hunk asked Lance, searching him out.

Of course it made Lance uncomfortable. But saying that out loud would dismantle this entire setup—Hunk would bring his foot down, declare this voyeuristic show over, all for the sake of Lance’s fragile psyche, which he had dedicated himself to protecting against Lance’s will. A little embarrassment was normal, exciting, even. And all the better because _Pidge was into it_ , she was into the both of them, and now was their chance to get documented proof. It would make the agony of the past few days worthwhile.

“Are you worried about her seeing your dick?” Lance asked in a hushed tone that could obviously be heard by all. “Because she’s seen it already. Like twice. You know?”

He hoped Hunk would grasp his terribly-conveyed message. To bolster his case, he gave the best puppy-dog eyes he could manage until he remembered distantly that Hunk once told him he just looked like a bug-eyed fish. The sobriety of his following expression was what eventually won Hunk’s understanding.

“Still feels weird,” Hunk complained, but not strongly enough for rejection.

“You could close your eyes,” Pidge suggested sardonically. “I’ll be real quiet, it’ll be like I’m not even there.”

As much as Hunk obviously did not appreciate the smartass suggestion, when Lance leaned in to capture his lips, his eyes slid shut and he kept them closed even as Lance pulled back to nibble on his thick neck. Lance glanced at Pidge from behind Hunk’s neck, sharing a secret look with her. Finally, she saw him, was really _seeing_ him, and didn’t turn away. With their eyes still locked he slowly, deliberately—every motion languid and smooth as an ocean wave—began gyrating his hips. Not too firm, not too light, he pressed against Hunk’s dick, relishing in the muted pleasure.

The sound of cloth against cloth struck his eardrums as too loud in the deafening silence. His palms dove underneath Hunk’s shirt, following curves and folds of skin like signposts while he rocked his hips. He lost track of his vision for a few moments, drawn in by the hitches of Hunk’s breath. Then a small motion caught his eye, and he refocused on Pidge, who was waving to get his attention.

She kept true to her vow of silence. But that didn’t stop her from mouthing ‘harder.’ Lance’s spine lit up, and he swore he could feel that word against the back of his neck, just like in the dream where she was an unwelcome visitor.

A wide, indulgent smile grew on his face. With a soft groan he leaned more of his weight forward, pressing himself fully against Hunk’s sturdy frame, and ground down with the same impeccable showmanship as before. He earned a choked moan and finally felt Hunk harden, both of them growing stiffer with each expert rotation of Lance’s hips.

He checked with Pidge for more requests and she mimed what he could only assume was a nipple twist. He made a very dignified “pfft” sound before setting to work pulling back Hunk’s shirt and feeling him up with both palms. Really, Hunk’s tits didn’t get enough appreciation. Cupping them in both hands, rubbing his thumbs over the areolae, he raised his eyebrows at their audience to ask her opinion. The answer was a resounding, albeit slightly awkward, two thumbs up.

Unfortunately Hunk had opened his eyes at some point. With a scowl he yanked off Lance’s shirt, drawing the curtain on their ill-begotten game of charades. Lance only got half a second to be miffed before huge hands yanked down his zipper, one reaching inside his pants to stroke him through his underwear. He sat up on his knees, eagerly helping Hunk pull his pants and underwear past his thighs. Then Hunk lifted him up, carefully guiding his hips towards his mouth.

Oh. Ohh yes.

Hot breath ghosted over the tip of his dick, and when Hunk’s tongue pressed carefully against the wet head, Lance’s knees almost buckled. He steadied himself with his hands on the back of the couch, half-kneeling and half-standing, and almost choked when Hunk suddenly took him in halfway. The big guy had plenty of thick, glossy black hair to take hold of, and Lance grabbed a fistful to anchor himself as he rocked into wet heat. He was allowed a little deeper each time, until Hunk’s nose kissed his stomach with every stroke. Then Hunk’s hands came back, creeping up his thighs to his ass, pulling apart his cheeks, and the stretch of his hole almost made him lose it from premature excitement.

He pulled out of Hunk’s mouth, meeting those simmering black eyes—finally, finally getting into it—and giggled, “Hold on there buddy, you’re gonna make me come before we even start.”

That drew out another frown. “Really? You were thinking of going all the way?”

“I mean, yeah? Why not?”

Again, Hunk looked to Pidge for help—an unwise decision that was met with a shrug and an innocent smile. As if she were completely uninvolved in the situation.

He released a mammoth sigh, moved Lance off of him and stood up. For a second Lance was filled with alarm, thinking the whole thing had been called off, until Hunk told them, “Alright, hold on a minute, I’ll be right back.”

Bug-eyed, Lance watched him head for the doorway. “What are you doing? Action’s back here.”

“Getting the necessary supplies. You want to do it dry?” Hunk called over his shoulder. The thought sent a thrill through Lance’s gut, but Hunk was right. Soon the yellow paladin was gone, footsteps disappearing down the corridor.

Lance quickly shimmied the rest of the way out of the rest of his clothes, tossing his pants, underwear, and socks onto a very unappreciative Pidge. “You know, you should be thanking me. You don’t get to see a show like this every day,” he preened, proudly posing with his hips and cock out. He’d like to see her chastise him for getting sexy in the showers after today.

“Yes, thanks for coercing our fellow paladin to engage in behavior that is _most definitely_ a breach of proper team conduct,” Pidge droned sarcastically, tossing his clothes to the floor with a grimace. Not the best thank you he could receive, but who knows, maybe they could work on it more in the future.

Lost in his self-congratulating thoughts, he almost missed her gesture to him, beckoning with one small, thin finger. Heart thudding at the suggestion of further closeness—the distance between them already tantalizingly small—he brazenly climbed over her, knees straddling on either side, yet still careful not to touch. After all, maybe this wasn’t okay. All she had promised to do was watch, and that wasn’t for his benefit. To his joy, however, this seemed to be what she wanted, as she smirked up at him, hands hovering what felt like mere millimeters above his thighs.

“I thought you said you were just gonna watch,” he murmured.

“I am. Have I touched you yet?” Pidge grinned, and Lance wanted to call bullshit—he swore he could feel their skin touch, almost imperceptibly, every few breaths. But this flirty song and dance, the threat of unexplored territory between them, all of it might disappear if he insisted on pushing beyond the flirtatious.

And yet, like always, he kept pushing.

“I can’t wait to show you how Hunk fucks me,” he crooned. “Want him to bend me over? Or maybe—”

He braced himself on the back of the couch again, lowered himself and, suspended a few inches above her, rolled his hips. “Maybe I can show you how I ride him?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. Only a little, but enough to know he’d struck a vein of gold.

“He sticks it in, fills me up …” He slowly sank down, as if seating himself fully on a hard cock, positioned right above the meeting of Pidge’s thighs. He gave a broken gasp and shivered, “Mm, all the way in, and then starts real _slow_.”

He lifted his hips and sank back down, over and over, mimicking the slow pace Hunk always, _always_ took when Lance first started riding him. This tempo had been burned into him as far back as the Garrison days, when they’d fuck through the stagnant heat of a lazy weekend afternoon.

Slowly, steadily, he rode up and down, sounds of pleasure working up along with the pace, until he was bouncing on that imaginary length. He threw his head back and moaned obscenely, ever mindful of the audience, and just as turned on as if he were actually seated on Hunk’s dick right then.

The sharp pinprick of fingernails drew him out of the fantasy with startling clarity. He looked down to find Pidge’s eyes on him, razor-sharp, almost clinical in their scrutiny. Just like that time back on the training deck. His cock swelled painfully.

“Why did you stop?” she asked in a smooth, alto tone—much lower than he thought her voice could go. “Keep going.”

A chill ran up his stomach. Swallowing hard, he started moving again, slower this time, watching her gaze trace the delicate curvature of his stomach muscles, scraping over his pelvis and thighs. His arousal pulsed, and she must have noticed, because she said, “You like that?”

Her voice sent a blazing trail of goosebumps all along his chest and back. Without pausing his hips, he groaned, “Yeah.”

“You want it?” Her grip tightened. “You want to get fucked?”

“Nnh, yeah.” He bit his lip and took her in long, rhythmic strokes.

“Spread your legs more. And don’t stop.”

Obediently, he spread wider, and as his body slid down to accommodate the stretch, her hands travelled upwards to caress his waist. Then they slipped back down, and he gasped out as she began guiding the movement of his hips.

“You want it?” she asked again, and he felt weak. He leaned forward, supporting himself on his arms, and whimpered beside her head. She turned and whispered into his ear, “You want him to split you open, don’t you? You want it deep and hard? I’ll bet he keeps fucking you even after you come, and you lie back and take it.”

“Yes, yes,” Lance moaned brokenly, struggling for breath. He felt like he was going to blow just from her even-tempered voice and her coaxing hands. “Please, fuck, I want—”

There were so many things he wanted. Release, praise, hands all over him and further demands. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to touch her, wanted her to fill him up, wanted her inside, more than she already was. But he was also just as excited to see her face as she watched Hunk use him, so excited that his fingers and toes felt numb.

In his dazed state, he heard the sound of heavy footsteps, and the all-too-familiar pop of a cap. He glanced over to see Hunk had returned, already squeezing lubricant into his hand.

“No, don’t let me interrupt,” he assuaged, gaze filled with that heady, tar-like blackness Lance loved so much. “Tell her what you want.”

Lance managed to lift himself back up enough so that he could look at Pidge directly again. “I want his cock so badly. When it goes in, I want to hear a _pop_ , so you can tell how big he is,” he told her, speaking quietly, as if telling her a secret. “He’ll ram it in, fuck me until I can’t walk straight. And then, when he pulls his cock out, I want you to watch his come drip down my—fffuck—”

He arched as a finger slipped into him from behind, slick and insistent. Another soon followed, diving in, and Lance felt like somehow he always forgot how thick Hunk’s fingers were until the time came to get stretched again. He bucked against those fingers as much as Pidge’s grip would allow, and pleaded with a whine for Hunk to fuck him already.

Never one to disappoint, Hunk pulled down his pants just far enough to remove his dick, slick up with the leftover lubricant, and push into Lance with a true, honest to God pop. Lance felt a slight burn, but they fucked enough in their downtime that a swift entry wasn’t enough to stop the fun. Damn, though, Lance always forgot just how big Hunk was. With a calm efficiency that was honed by much practice, he straightened his spine so he could breathe deep and relax his muscles. And as soon as he did, Hunk slid in further, almost all the way in on the first go.

“Nngh, _fuck_ ,” Lance cursed again. He blearily tried to refocus on Pidge, who again was frozen in that subtle, silent, intimidating entrancement. He took another breath to make some stupid wisecrack only to spend it on a small cry as Hunk pulled out and drove back in, sheathing himself fully this time. Then that slow rhythm began, the stuff of lazy weekend afternoons, and between the nostalgia, the vague disbelief of what was going on, the multi-faceted catharsis and the thrusts hitting deep inside, almost, _almost_ at the perfect angle—all opportunity for words drowned in heady pleasure.

When Hunk finally angled himself to hit that special spot, Lance really did feel like he would come apart. Knees shivering, voice trembling, he could only lean forward and brace himself harder against the couch as Hunk picked up the pace. Another of Hunk’s noble qualities that went unappreciated was his deadly aim—each thrust left a wound of burning, liquid heat in Lance’s gut. The sound of skin slapping against skin reached his ears, the pace quickening until his entire lower body felt numb, and he groaned out, “Shit, I’m already—almost—”

Hunk took this as a cue to slow down and return to the earlier unhurried rhythm, now grinding instead of making full strokes. Hot tears rolled down Lance’s cheeks, his glazed eyes helplessly darting everywhere and nowhere. He heard Pidge say something, something he didn’t quite catch, and then Hunk pulled him so he was sitting upright, leaning back against Hunk’s chest. A meaty hand cupped his balls, pulling them up, rolling them together idly.

“Better?” Hunk panted.

“Much,” Pidge answered, and Lance felt his entire face and neck flush deep red.

As Hunk started moving again, Pidge kept her gaze at the place where Hunk’s cock sank into Lance, over and over. She held her knuckles to her teeth, smiling, and Lance got the feeling she wasn’t so much aroused by his body as she was enamored by his exposure. He felt a rush of embarrassment, sweet enough to almost push him over the edge. A sob escaped him as Hunk mouthed the shell of his ear, whispering, “you’re good, so good, fuck,” and drove into him. The hand down below began to stroke his cock in time with each thrust.

He was so close, almost there, just a step away from tumbling over into oblivion, when he felt another hand creep underneath him—a slim, cold one, definitely not Hunk’s, and a soft finger pressed into his hole alongside Hunk’s cock. Lance’s eyes flew open and he surprised everyone by coming violently, body wracked in gasping shudders. He came so hard he got Pidge right in the glasses and her head recoiled, as if knocked back by the force.

“Christ,” Pidge swore, tearing away her stained spectacles. She examined them disdainfully, idly wiping away a few small drops that landed on her cheek. Now her fingers were dirty, and she had a bemused grimace for that mess, too.

Then she realized all movement had stopped entirely and glanced up at the boys who were both frozen in shock. Lance in particular looked like his heart had fallen out of his chest.

She melted into the warmest expression Lance had seen since she caught them in the shower. Laughing at their anxious expressions, she joked brightly, “Well, this is why we wear safety goggles in the lab, huh?”

Lance nearly sagged with relief. He giggled weakly in spite of himself, nervous sweat dripping down his temples and mixing with the sweat of passion. He felt that finally a hurdle had been cleared, a mountain climbed, and he was breathless in the wake of resolution. At least, until Hunk regained his sense and started fucking him again, just a little faster, harder. Lance could do nothing but bleat through the last vestiges of pleasure, overstimulated and weak, vaguely aware of that unfamiliar finger sneaking beneath him again to rub against the rim of his entrance. By the time Hunk pushed deep and released inside, Lance had all but collapsed on top of Pidge, whose hair tickled his shoulder.

Strong hands started to lift him up again and he loudly protested, “You’re _killing_ me, big guy.”

“But you said you wanted her to see the come drip out of your ass,” Hunk reminded him, and shit, yeah, Lance had forgotten that. He crawled off Pidge and onto the other end of the couch, crouched on all fours in an exhausted sprawl with his ass just high enough in the air that muscles and gravity could do their work. Hunk spread him open with two hands and he felt something slick ooze down his thigh.

Pidge gave a low whistle.

 

Things went back to normal after that. Or at least, as normal as things can be between friends who’ve seen the most intimate regions of each other’s anatomies in action. By the next morning, Pidge and Lance were back in communication. And of course, Lance cheerfully reminded Pidge and Hunk at every appropriate opportunity that the next award-winning space porn wasn’t going to film itself. Neither Pidge nor Hunk confirmed whether they would take part in its production.

Several days after they “filmed” their “new sexy video,” Hunk approached Pidge to check its status.

“Don’t worry, as soon as you guys went to bed that day, I cropped out all the evidence.” She made a snipping motion with her fingers. “I forgot the rec room has multiple cameras, so it was a big pain in the ass. But it’s done.”

She brought up the surveillance feed on her trusty tablet so he could see for himself. He dutifully checked the feeds for every single camera—four of them, to be exact, all pointed at angles that sparked the imagination for what images lay in those cropped sections of footage.

“I’m guessing you saved the rest somewhere,” Hunk ventured.

“For now. I haven’t watched it, though. Feels weird trying to edit that kind of video when I’m also in the footage.”

From the way she spoke, though, she was willing to try. Lance probably made her promise to edit it so he could see the video in its entirety from all the best available viewpoints.

“Hey,” she began hesitantly, idly tucking a few strands of hair behind her ear, “I didn’t … intrude on your guys’ thing, did I? Y’know, what you two got going on?”

Now it was Hunk’s turn to laugh at her nervousness. “No, we were never exclusive. Though normally I prefer to broaden the circle when I’m not being, you know, filmed by the all-seeing omniscient Castle ship.”

“Omniscient my foot,” Pidge huffed, but some of the tension left her body. “Well, I’m glad. You guys are great, so I didn’t want to … mess this whole thing up.” She gesticulated wildly, to something that presumably encompassed their friendship and their status as members of Voltron.

Hunk cocked his head. “Did you really think we’d get mad about the training deck thing? I mean, I was kind of miffed that you locked us in there, but other than that …”

She shrugged awkwardly, finding interest in some speck of dirt on the floor. “What was I supposed to do? Say, ‘hey, I see you guys having a good time over there, don’t mind me, it’s for science?’”

“You could’ve. Or, you know, you could’ve said like … anything at all.” They fell into a weighted silence. “Lance was really worried. He thought we might’ve lost you as a friend. I tried to tell him, it takes more than that to break up a Garrison team.”

She smiled a little. “Yeah. Sorry. I just thought, well—” She scratched her head. “I was a creep. I felt bad, and I knew Lance would turn it into a joke, and I just couldn’t take that. I guess I should apologize to him properly later.”

“Don’t worry about it. At least now we’re all on the same page,” Hunk reassured her, handing back her device. “Besides, some good came out of it in the end.”

She blinked up at him questioningly. He loomed over, kissed her cheek, and said, “Next time, instead of spying, come ask for the real thing, alright? Then you won’t have to feel like a creep.”

He left without a glance back at Pidge, who stood bewildered by the pleasant warmth on her cheek.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you got this far, thanks so much for reading! I didn't get a chance to do Klance or Sheith, but hopefully I can cover those pairings in a future fic. Thinking of maybe making a polydins series depending on how much time I have to write in the future. So if you liked this let me know and give me suggestions!
> 
> If you want to get your Sheith fix right now, my friend reinkist wrote an amazing emotional sex pollen fic over here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10136459
> 
> They also wrote a super cool Klance fic. The way they write Lance is so great! Everything feels real. You can find that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8087809
> 
> Thanks again! Look forward to hearing from you.


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